


Ready To Comply

by Awkwardkilljoy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 07:18:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10917009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awkwardkilljoy/pseuds/Awkwardkilljoy
Summary: Barnes was a human, a being with feelings and emotions. The Soldier is a machine, programmed to kill and do as Hydra says.





	Ready To Comply

The air is cold against his exposed skin, the metal of the chair beneath him hurts his back, the mouth guard tastes weird and feels foreign and too big even after all the times he’s been through this process. His skull is pressed tight and he can feel the hum of the machine before the shock comes. His teeth tighten.

He knows what's coming, in minutes the words will start. They will be thrown at him mercilessly. They will bury themselves into the deepest corners of his mind, force themselves through the sound of his pained screams.

His knuckles turn white as he grips the chair beneath him. He tries to remember, puts all his strength into it, but it is too painful to reach for the memories. Every try brings out the wrong memories. No matter how deep he reaches. The memories won't come. James' memories are gone, buried too deep into his mind, tortured out of possible remembrance. But the memories of all the days spent in the dark room, his body and mind severely abused until nothing remained for him to grasp onto. His memories gone, his will forgotten. Those are still clear and they show themselves whenever he dives in too deep. They crawl out of their hiding and remind him.

They remind him he's no one. He is theirs, everything he does is to please them. The Soldier is no human. He is a machine meant for doing the dirty jobs no one ever wanted to do, meant to be used and abused as they wanted.

He spots the red book as the man picks it up and starts flicking through the pages. Every word, every syllable, they meant something. Each word held meaning. He knew that much. Bucky Barnes had written those words for a reason. The Winter Soldier wanted nothing more than to remember Barnes. Wanted to know him, to remember him, to be him. Or was that Barnes trying to come back?

He tries to remember everything, what each word meant. Why Barnes had written them, what they had meant to him. Some claim they are the same person, the Soldier is simply a different side of Barnes. But Barnes would have never done the things the Soldier has done, never in his life would he have even thought about it. The abomination that is The Winter Soldier holds nothing in common with Bucky Barnes.

Barnes was a human, a being with feelings and emotions. The Soldier is a machine, programmed to kill and do as Hydra says.

The man reads out loud, his voice clear and strong. The words leave his mouth like venom, ready to bore themselves into his brain, into his skin. Make him forget who he is and turn him into the monster they insist on calling a success.

“Longing.”

 _The strong, persistent desire or craving, especially for something_ _unattainable or_ _distant_

_Craving, he craved for something. Someone. He longed for the feeling of their skin touching. Barnes desired someone, he wanted them with all his being. He couldn't go a moment without thinking about them, without craving their touch, their taste, their smell._

_He wants them, he desires them, he longs them. Longing is something the Soldier doesn't know. It makes him weak, it distracts him from his mission. It is close to needing, it is too easy for human nature to get them mixed up. Longing leads to need and needing means he couldn't get his mission done. But the feeling that Barnes had once felt, it stirs something inside him._

_A body pressed tight against his, limbs intertwined, lips against the nape of his neck trying to fight the cold that the thin sheets around them fail to scare away. The darkness of the room around them. A secret. No one must know, but them. Hands travel around naked skin. Touching, feeling. Every touch shows them how much they long for each other. For their touch, their smell, their lips._

_He yearned for the moments they were together, the moments he got to feel complete next to that per_ _son, their bodies touching_ _in the most passionate of ways, nothing between them, nothing to stop them from showing each other how much they longed for one another._

_He wants to feel it, he wants to long for that person Barnes had needed so much, he wants to love them as much as Barnes once did._

“Rusted.”

_The smell of rusted metal, old furniture and humid wood. It's as though he can smell it. And for a moment the smell of his own blood is gone. Replaced by these scents, scents that tell a story. A room, small and old. The smell is pleasant, it makes him feel safe and sound._

_Someone is in the room with him. Hunched over the small table, their back to him. He can hear the sound of a pencil against paper, the person's hand moving quickly against a beat-up sketchbook. They are skin and bones and every other minute they let out a weak cough and whimpers as though even that simple action hurts them._

_The soft sound of old music travels through the air and fills his ears and suddenly he wants to dance. He wants to grab the person before him and dance until his feet are too tired and blistered to keep going. He wants to move his body in time to the song, perfectly coordinated with his partner._

_Barnes loved dancing, he loved the feeling of another body against his, moving swiftly in time with the beat. He loved the air against his face as he moved around, the sweat trickling down his back as the air around him grew heavy with the heat of the human body._

_Something in his chest tightens, he can't say what it is. It's foreign and unknown. Probably dangerous, probably forbidden._

_Home. It feels like home._

“Seventeen.”

_March 10th 1917._

_Youth. Something long lost and gone. He can't remember the feeling of being young. But Barnes surely can. Being free, reckless and naive. Being stupid but enjoying being so. Having to work extra hours just to go to the attraction park with his friends, because they could barely afford their food on a regular basis. Getting into fights just to prove they could beat the bullies and smiling through split lips and purple eyes as their mothers rushed to get some ice. Finding some fine dames and taking them out with the mere purpose of having a fun night, no compromise attached._

_Not even Barnes can remember the day he was born, that's against human nature. He can remember what it is to be alive though. Something the Soldier doesn't have much experience at doing. He knew running, loving, laughing, crying, hurting. The Soldier knows death, murder, blood, suffering._

_A new feeling develops inside of him. One of many starting to flow into his mind. Longing, home._

_Regret._

“Daybreak.”

_Light._

_The sun creating intricate patterns of bright colours in the clouds. The city barely lit enough for them to climb to the rooftop without tripping. A ray of sunlight making blue eyes appear brighter and blond hair seem golden as they hope for better days to come. The warmth of the first summer day starting to hug their skin._

_The hope of a new day and a new season powering them throughout their long day. The hope of a new chance._

_Hope._

_There's nothing The Winter Soldier can hope for. But Barnes just hopes for this to be over. As they dig into his brain and take every small piece of him, as they rip him apart and try to vanish him. Bucky Barnes just hopes for it to be over, he hopes to end this and live free once again._

_Furnace._

_It's extremely hot in the camp. His fellow soldiers rest around him. It's so hot his uniform is drenched in sweat and his eyes sting from the droplets that fall in them. His hair sticks to his forehead. It's grown long through the few weeks he's spent in the army. Becca wouldn't like it, neither would his friend._

_As that thought strikes him his mind travels to Brooklyn. To those blue eyes and blond hair, the thin frame and weak limbs._

_They all have pictures with them. Someone who gives them strength to fight. Mostly pretty girls, with their soft curves, rosy cheeks, radiant smiles and shiny eyes. Bucky hasn’t got any girls awaiting his return. His best friend smiles at him warmly, his hair shining in the summer sun. Three kids surround him, one is not much younger than them, a couple of years at most, she is also smiling but her eyes aren’t focused on him, she looks at the other two kids, they look younger, still on their early teens, they smile toothy grins at the camera. And he is there too, one arm around his sister, another ruffling his best pal’s hair. He feels something for the people in the picture. Something deep. So deep, the Soldier is afraid to even mention. It's forbidden, it's an impediment._

_Barnes looked at the picture with such determination. It was a promise, keeping the picture was his way of promising he would come back. Because those people needed him, because what he felt for them made him want to get back to them._

_Love._

He pants heavily, still sitting on the metal chair, his head still trapped and his skin still tingling from the electricity cursing through it, seconds ago.

The smell and taste of blood is back. The feeling of the metal against his skin clearer than ever. The echo of his pained screams and grunts still hanging in the air.

The memories don't leave his head this time, during those short seconds that the machine takes to recharge, while the buzzing in his ears starts to die. He can remember what he saw.

It's almost as if he can feel everything that Barnes had felt. But that's not possible, The Soldier doesn't feel such emotions. He isn't meant to do so.

He wonders if they were right. Barnes was still a part of him. He can almost swear he can hear him inside his head begging, screaming, surviving.

“Nine.”

_A whole century, that's how much time there's between James Buchanan Barnes and The Soldier today. The 1900’s, that’s Bucky’s time, his century._

_Much has changed. People, places, culture. Barnes would have never dreamed of iPhones, of 3D movies, of automatic cars. The Soldier knows all of this._

_There's lights around them, people buzzing on and about, two beautiful girls, a man is speaking on stage. He talks about some car and laughter explodes as his seemingly great idea fails. He's dancing with the girls now. The music guiding their movements._

_Barnes loves it. He dreams of the future. It will be bright and brilliant. Flying cars, teleporting, robots, but mostly he is happy, he has a great life. A future he never got to see. The Soldier has, it's not as impressive, quite disappointing if you ask him. They think so differently from one another._

_Although they're living in the same body, they are different people._

_Or are they?_

“Benign.”

_His hair falls in his eyes. Soft, gentle, benign. That's the words he chose to describe him back then._

_They sat on their couch, rain plopping against the walls of their apartment. He was sick as always. Bucky had cooked some soup for him. He sat there, watching as he weakly took the spoon and sipped the hot soup. It was all they could afford, money for medicines had been spent last month already and time hadn’t been enough to save enough once again. He had sat there watching and described the scene before him, wrote it down as a way to keep his feet on the ground whenever he needed it. This is your life, this is why you do what you do, they said whenever he looked at them._

_He described the way his chest would wheeze with every breath, how his hands had itched to go back to sketching. He had described how he looked at him._

_That look made him feel full, it made him feel complete. The longing he had felt before was back and stronger. He wanted to hold the man before him. He wanted to bury himself in him, drown in him. He wanted to be his._

_His eyes held admiration and gratitude. Barnes couldn't have felt better than when those eyes looked at him. All his worries forgotten and unimportant the moment he looked at him._

_He felt loved._

“Homecoming.”

_3...2...5...5...7...0...3...8_

_His tired eyes met with baby blue one's. He stopped his mumbling and looked at him. Those eyes, those blond strands falling over them. He knew them._

_He had called for him._

_Bucky_

One word. That was all it took.

He spits out the guard protecting his mouth.

My name is Bucky.

The words leave his mouth, his throat is sore and his body aches, but he manages to let it out. It's broken, it's desperate, it's barely there, but it is all Bucky can manage.

_It was just like coming home. Seeing those eyes again, hearing his voice calling for him, feeling those soft, feeble fingers supporting him. Except they were feeble no more. He had changed, he was bigger, stronger now. He was still his old friend though. He could see it, he could feel it._

_The way he moved, the way he carried himself. His body might have changed but he remained the same kid from Brooklyn trying to get a shot at doing what he dreamt of._

_He feels safe with him, he feels at home._

_Safety sounds surreal. Something that has been taken from him._

The man's eyes burn with rage as his subject tries to resist. The Soldier had been breached too many times lately. He circles around him, just like a predator stalking his pray.

“One.”

_Steve._

_One person. That's what made them the same person. That's what united them._

_One person is all they need._

_It's the only one they know, the only one they care for. That's what makes them one._

_Bucky Barnes loves Steve Rogers with all of his being. The Soldier is gone the moment Steve comes into question._

_Steve fuels him, Steve makes him strong._

_Steve holds him tight, Steve whispers in his ears, Steve draws his face on cheap paper with careful traces of graphite, Steve worries for him._

_Steve loves him. And he loves Steve back._

_One person was all that fuelled Bucky Barnes._

_Steve Rogers._

He screams, the taste of blood is stronger now that the guard is out of his mouth.

The machine hums more and more with every second that goes by. Every shock sends twitches traveling through his body. He screams, he tries to resist, his body is about to shut down, his mind soon to follow suit. But If there's something left of Bucky Barnes inside of The Soldier, he'll fight.

He will try to make it out of here, find Steve, tell him that he needs him. That he longs for him. He'll rebuild his life. The pain is close to unbearable, but with Steve in his mind he thinks he can manage.

Then the words come out.

Strong, decided, unforgiving.

“Freight Car.”

_He let you fall, we have saved you. You must complete the mission. No matter the cost. No matter the casualties. Your work is a gift to mankind. You are The Winter Soldier._

“Soldier?”

“Ready to comply.”


End file.
